


Danke Schoen, Darling

by MercuryAlice



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:53:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryAlice/pseuds/MercuryAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The only person you’ve ever been love-struck for is yourself.”</p>
<p>“Someone should put that on my headstone.”</p>
<p>“I plan to.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danke Schoen, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> The song is 'Danke Schoen' by Wayne Newton.

** New York, February, 1963. **

 

It could have been called childish, and had been on occasion, but by far his favorite part of winter was the pool freezing over. There was something wonderfully thrilling about being able to step foot on what, by all rights, should be liquid and have foot met with solid ice instead; to the point where one could jump and still remain above it. He knows that, he’s done it. One foot wrong and he’d fall, of course, but considering he spent the vast majority of his time on far more reckless endeavors, falling and looking moronic was the least of his worries.

 

The ice doesn’t even creak under his feet, not that he would be able to hear it over the record player but he’s sure he would at least feel it. A habit of playing the same song, if he liked it, until he couldn’t stand it was one he hadn’t managed to shake over the years; leaving a trail of songs he couldn’t listen to anymore without gritting his teeth littered in his wake. Something of an obsessive habit, but no one was perfect.

 

One day, he’d work on that one. One day. Maybe. It wasn’t so much choice, as the fact that he could either listen to something until he could bear to hear it again for years, or have it play on a loop in his head until god knew when. Last time he’d tried the latter, it had been several weeks and it had distracted him enough that he’d nearly blown himself up a dozen times. Which was only slightly more than usual, but still.

 

_‘Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen. Thank you for all the joy and pain...’_

 

The song restarts and he hums along, turning at the sound of heel on tile; pointing with a pretense of accusation with the hand otherwise occupied with a glass. “We’ve been friends for twenty years.”  
  
“Twenty-two.” She corrects, and he notes that she isn’t at all surprised or bothered by the lapse in recall or celebration two years ago. “You’re drunk.”

 

“I’m melancholy.” It’s not at all true, but wasn’t meant to be anywhere near convincing to begin with.

 

“No, you’re not.” If he couldn’t see the eye-roll, he’s certain he would have felt it, even if his back was turned.

 

“No, I’m not.” It gets the very slightest twitch of her lips, and he grins outright in return; a step, then two, perfectly straight in line and with a cocky tilt of his head. “But I could have been, how impolite would you have looked then.”

 

The ice holds perfectly as she shakes her head in such a way that he should probably be contrite- he isn’t- and she steps up to join him; taking the glass and knocking back the contents with a pointed look. “Rather pathetic end. Howard Stark drinks himself to death.”

 

“She says as she joins me.” He waves a hand dismissively. “If it isn’t my work that’s going to kill me, it’s my driving, or my flying, or anything else you can think of. If you want me dead, Margaret, just say so and I’ll fall right here.” He laughs, even at the exasperated click of her tongue; hand over his heart in mock promise.

 

_‘Danke schoen, au wiedersehen, danke schoen...’_

 

There’s a second or two of silence as the record player clicks back over to start the song again, and that second or two is all the time he needs to idly glance over the last twenty- twenty-two- years and turn it over in his mind before putting it back on its shelf. It wasn’t romantic love, certainly. For a fraction of heartbeat in ‘51 he’d thought it might have been but he realized quickly that although he loved her, it wasn’t in any way remotely romantic love. He adored her, yes, but was never in love with her.

 

Put simply, she was like him. At least in the respect that she had to work for everything she had. She was capable. More than. Howard blinks twice, noting he hadn’t been paying attention when she flicks his shoulder.

 

“You haven’t heard a word, have you?” No, frankly he hadn’t.

 

He shrugs, flashing a smile that had gotten him through a million false apologies. It’s met with a look he can’t identify, one he hasn’t seen before, and for a moment it bothers him but he brushes it off. “Too love-struck to listen?” He quips, dragging a cigarette case from his jacket pocket and offering.

 

“Oh shut up.” She ignores the offer and huffs a breath that drips with annoyance, along with that same flicker he can’t place. “The only person you’ve ever been love-struck for is yourself.”

 

“Someone should put that on my headstone.”

 

“I plan to.” The comeback is quick and the thread that didn’t make sense to him is gone; replaced with well practiced back and forth. She smiles and he smiles back as he taps a cigarette against the metal out of habit.

 

“We should do something to celebrate.” He comments through a puff of smoke, shaking out the match and squinting a little as it clears. “Better late than never.”

 

“I’d say get very drunk, but you’ve beat me to the punch.” She arches a brow, a quiet clickity-click following her as she moves, settling down to sit on the edge of the pool; incidentally beside the bottle of whiskey; refilling the glass to half and giving no indication that he should join her. He does anyway, a second glass between his fingers before he sits.

 

“Melancholy.”

 

“ _Not._ ” She counters over the rim of her glass. He grins, shoe tapping a few times against the ice.

 

“Not at all.” Howard concedes. Another cloud of smoke as he exhales, head tipping up. “Admit it, you’re surprised we both made it this far.”

 

“I’m surprised _you_ made it this far.” She snorts, shooting him a look that he ignores.

 

“I’m going to live forever, didn’t you hear?”

 

“Of course you are.” She relents and half fills his glass too, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth.

 

He raises his glass just the tiniest bit. “Congratulations to both of us, anyway.” The whiskey is pleasantly warm, as she echoes the sentiment back at him before they both fall silent for lack of anything worthwhile to say. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, not the kind that makes a chasm, it just hovers in a friendly manner that neither are much inclined to break.

 

_‘Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen_

_I said thank you for_

_Thank you for seeing me again_

_Though we go, we're gonna go our separate ways_

_But still the memory stays for always_

_ My heart says danke schoen’ _


End file.
